


Line in the Sand

by DionysusCrisis



Series: Every Star Another Sun [1]
Category: Invader Zim
Genre: Adventure, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood and Injury, Dib is in his mid 20s, Established ZaDf, Gen, I said graphic depictions of violence to be safe but I don't go too in depth, Major Character Injury, Self-Indulgent, Whump, hurt zim, it says here on this paper that I can do what I want, let's learn a lesson about trust and partnership, some strong language, space adventures
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-10
Updated: 2020-02-13
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:07:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22644619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DionysusCrisis/pseuds/DionysusCrisis
Summary: Over a decade after the Florpus Hole incident, Dib and Zim have settled into a strange friendship that's taken them off-world and into the depths of space, debunking myths and defeating monsters (for a reasonable price, of course). After a close call for Dib in a previous expedition, Zim has picked up the perfect odd-job: low risk, high pay, nothing that would jeopardize his traveling companion's wellbeing, not that he's worried about it. Unfortunately, Zim's inability to read the fine print leads to a crustacean-themed catastrophe. With Zim's PAK malfunctioning and his life in danger, both human and Irken will have to confront past traumas if they want to make it off the planet alive.
Series: Every Star Another Sun [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1636579
Comments: 29
Kudos: 255





	1. Chapter 1

“Hey, remember how President Man declared himself Supreme Elite World Emperor Man, so we left Earth to solve mysteries in space?”

Zim’s eye twitched. “Yes. I recall.”

“Great, glad you do, because I’m seriously considering returning to a world-wide dictatorship instead of doing whatever the hell we’re doing out here on this nightmare planet.”

“I understand you’re… _frustrated_ with the task at hand, but the faster we accomplish it, the faster we can leave,” Zim said through gritted teeth.

“Zim, the soles of my boots are melting. I think I hear my brain sizzling,” Dib continued.

Zim’s grip on his lifeform scanner tightened, briefly warping the screen from the pressure. “Maybe if your head wasn’t so monstrously deformed it wouldn’t, uh, be the target of so many… sunlight… waves.”

Behind him, Zim sensed Dib stop walking. “What? That insult sucked, even by your standards. The heat’s getting to you, too.”

Zim turned on his heel as crisply as he could in the loose red sand of the infinite desert. “It’s no hotter than that time we had to sell that disgusting candy door-to-door in skool. Quit your whining.”

Even through the protective facemask Zim had outfitted Dib with, Zim could tell the human was simmering, and not just because of the soul-searing heat. “Bullshit. Why did you pick up this stupid job anyway? And why didn’t I get any say in it?”

“You were sleeping. We were in the area. It pays well,” Zim stated robotically, just as he’d rehearsed. “Maybe if you didn’t sleep for so many hours at a time, you could have voiced your opinion.”

“You know damn well that humans can’t survive without sleep. And here’s another human factoid for you: we also can’t survive on the surface of the _fucking sun_.”

Zim frowned. “This isn’t a star. This is the planet Sirus Minor.”

“I know this isn’t literally the sun. I’m just saying that I could get heatstroke and die out here,” Dib said.

“What?” Zim’s antennae flicked up involuntarily as he assessed Dib’s condition. Dib’s face was covered by the goggled mask, but his arms were bare and slick with sweat. He stank of salt and exertion, and his posture was more hunched than usual.

Dib straightened slightly under Zim’s intense gaze, his tone softening subtly. “I’m not dying, Zim. I’m just frustrated and very, very hot.”

“Zim knows you’re not dying, and that you’re merely being a dramatic worm-baby,” Zim hissed, but his eyes traveled down the length of Dib’s arm to the sun-reddened new scar on the back of his hand.

The memory returned to the front of Zim’s mind, unbidden, of the stand-off with the smugglers he and Dib had stumbled upon during their last investigation. A full week had passed, but the mark from the energy pistol’s shot was still there. Dib had explained that even with Zim’s repair pod and advanced tech, human tissue didn’t repair itself with the same speed and precision as Irken tissue. Yet another shortcoming of the PAKless human race, Zim supposed. Still, his attention lingered on the raised skin on Dib’s hand for a few seconds too long.

“Zim?” Dib prompted.

“Hydrate yourself and keep up,” Zim ordered, spinning away and focusing on his tracker.

Dib followed Zim along the top of a red dune, obediently taking a swig from his canteen as he walked. They traveled in silence for a while as Zim tampered with the tracker, pausing occasionally to aim it one way or another and adjust a dial on its side.

What an absolute wasteland this place was. Nothing but red sand and the rare shock of white stone for miles in every direction beneath a sickly yellow sky. Zim barely held back his own string of complaints and made sure to keep his face away from Dib so the human wouldn’t notice his panting. He released a quiet sigh of relief when his device finally dinged and indicated a new direction.

“Did you find one? A cockatrice or whatever you called it?” Dib asked, peering over Zim’s shoulder at the screen.

“Creekitee,” Zim corrected. “Yes. In a… that way direction.”

Dib squinted in the direction Zim pointed, checked the screen again, and looked off in another direction. “Are you sure it’s that way?”

Zim grumbled and rechecked the coordinates. Damnit, the Dib might be right. Zim swiftly pointed in the correct direction. “Yes, just as Zim said, that way.”

“But you were pointing… Ugh, never mind,” Dib said with an air of resignation. “Can you explain what exactly we’re doing with this ‘creaky’ whatever?”

“I already told you,” Zim said, quickening his pace.

“I was half asleep and you were dragging me into this Arrakis-looking hellscape while you did,” Dib said. “Forgive me if my memory is foggy.”

“We’re capturing creekitees to sell to the egg-farmers on this planet’s moon. Creekitee eggs are a luxury food for many sapient species in this quadrant. Those farmers will pay top cred for new animals.”

The device beeped again in Zim’s hands. Good, they were on the right track.

“And creekitees… are crabs?” Dib asked.

“Basically, yes, I think so,” Zim answered as he checked his scanner against the landscape. Ahead, a cluster of tall slabs of rock leaned together, forming something akin to a pyramid. Perhaps creekitees nested there. To be honest, Zim’s understanding of the species was limited to the details he’d skimmed on the ad for creekitee-catchers that had led him to this planet.

“Huh. I’d think in a place like this there would be, I don’t know, giant sandworms or something,” Dib said.

“Why on Irk would you think that?”

Dib’s expression was hard to discern behind the mask, but he spread his hands in an “isn’t it obvious?” sort of gesture. “Like in _Dune_? Or _Tremors_? Hell, even _Beetlejuice_ had a giant evil sandworm.”

“Hm. The evilest things here are the sand and the sun,” Zim said, kicking up a little sand for emphasis. Powdery particulate drifted slowly down from Zim’s kick. “See that? The sand is incredibly fine, which is why you’re not to remove your mask. It infiltrates everything. Just a little bit of it could jam anything mechanical if it manages to work its way inside. Fortunately for us, I used my genius to perfectly seal my lifeform tracker and your bio-net. You do have the net, yes?”

Dib pulled the slingshot-like contraption from the bag slung over his shoulder.

Zim nodded in approval. “Excellent. So, no sandworms to fear, Dib-smelly. The biggest threat to us would be a sandstorm.”

“So, it’s not just the sun and the sand that we need to worry about, but also sandstorms?” Dib asked flatly.

Zim waved the tracker in the air. “Not at all. My brilliant tracker also monitors weather conditions. It will alert us if we’re in danger so we can summon GIR to pick us up. As long as we call before the storm gets too close and the macguffilica particles in the sand disrupt communications, we’ll be fine.”

“OK, see, you just brought up yet another dangerous-sounding thing,” Dib said.

Zim waved his free hand dismissively. “Macguffilica particles are of no concern to us. They’re only a problem if they’re kicked up in a sandstorm, at which point they merely inhibit electronic communications. But we don’t have to worry about that, because we’ll know when a storm is brewing and we’ll be able to avoid it before the particles cause any trouble. The Dib is perfectly safe!”

Dib’s head tilted to the side, the glare from the sun on his goggles rendering his expression unreadable. “…Right. OK. So, you sealed the tracker and the net… What about your PAK?”

Strangely, heat seemed to bloom from within Zim, rising into his cheeks. A small alarm pinged in the back of his mind. “What about it?”

“Did you seal it too?”

“The PAK is naturally sealed in its current state. I’ll keep it closed,” Zim stated.

Dib was silent for a few seconds.

“You said the farmers pay a lot for these crab things. How much is a lot?” he eventually asked.

“Five hundred cred each,” Zim boasted. “It’s a perfect deal. Low risk, high pay, easy as walking a cake with a baby.”

“What? Whatever. Listen, Zim, something about this doesn’t feel right,” Dib said.

“Eugh, you and your feeeeelings,” Zim grumbled. “It is PERFECT. Even if we catch just one creekitee, we’ll have a month’s worth of expenses covered and _then_ some.”

The tracker chimed rapidly and Zim’s antennae jumped forward in anticipation.

“What is that? Is there a sandstorm?” Dib asked, scanning the horizon.

Zim danced from foot to foot in excitement. “It’s here! We’re right on top of a creekitee! Quick, ready the bio-net!”

Dib hoisted the branched net-throwing contraption and held it at the ready. Both the human and the Irken crouched low and searched the monotonous sprawl of red sand and pale pebbles. For about a minute, nothing changed. No movement, no noise, just two beings staring expectantly at the ground.

And then the ground shivered.

Dib took a step back. “Uh… Zim?”

“Dib?”

“How… How _large_ would you say a creekitee is?”

The ground quaked a little more violently, shifting the silty sand and making it ripple like water.

“I dunno. I’ve never seen one.”

“Zim, are you fucking-”

Dib’s sentence was cut off as a massive shape erupted from the sand, flinging them both backward. Sand billowed, completely obscuring the scene for several seconds as it settled. Zim scrambled to his feet, panic rising in his squeedlyspooch as his antennae flitted around, seeking Dib’s presence in the haze of dust.

As soon as he made out Dib’s shape, an enormous claw slammed into the ground between them, causing Zim to jump back again. He held his breath at the impossible sight before him.

There, surrounded by drifting sand, towered a crab twice the size of Zim’s Voot Cruiser. It looked like a glass sculpture, all sharp angles and glossy planes, with a pair of gigantic, sharp-edged claws. Two long eyestalks swiveled toward Zim.

“THE NET!” Zim shrieked, stumbling backwards to avoid one of the creekitee’s legs as it stepped toward him.

On the other side of the creature, Dib had regained his footing. With remarkable poise for the situation, he leveled the bio-net at the monster, braced himself, and fired. A glittering blue energy grid shot from between the arms of the slingshot and struck the back of the creekitee before disintegrating anticlimactically.

“WHAT THE FUCK, ZIM???” Dib shouted, pointing ferociously at the worthless weapon in his other hand.

The creekitee’s eyes twisted toward Dib and a wave of nausea coursed through Zim’s body. The monster’s legs moved so swiftly, too quickly for a creature of its size, and it was on Dib within seconds. The human yelled out in horror and tried to escape up the side of a dune only to sink into the sand, the bio-net forgotten in the dust.

A claw raised in the air above Dib.

Zim didn’t think, only acted. His PAK laser zipped out from behind him and unleashed a series of blasts into the creekitee’s chitinous body, producing an eerie ringing sound, like a crystal chandelier swaying. PAK legs lifted him into the air, struggling for purchase and stability in the sand, but still managing to move at a spectacular speed toward Dib.

Zim didn’t feel the claw slice across his abdomen as he raced by, but he saw the trail of magenta blood that arced through the air as he fought to maintain his balance. He dipped down, barely evading a second swipe as he hooked his arms beneath Dib’s and pulled him out of the swirling sand.

Dib was screaming something, but Zim didn’t register the words. His entire attention was on the pyramid of leaning stone slabs ahead of him. His PAK legs galloped gracelessly across the unstable terrain, but he somehow managed to put distance between himself and the creekitee.

Not enough distance. Not fast enough. Not enough strength.

Zim didn’t register he was falling until he’d already hit the ground in a spray of sand. The tracker – miraculously still in his hand – flew from his grasp. Blearily, Zim noticed Dib next to him, sitting up, shaking his head, turning toward him.

The ground trembled as the creekitee gained on them. Dib’s head turned rapidly this way and that as he assessed the situation. He snatched the tracker off the ground, jammed it in his bag, and then scooped Zim into his arms.

Zim felt it then, the explosion of bright, hot pain across his stomach that seemed to spread tendrils of agony through his entire body. He couldn’t bite back the anguished shriek as Dib flailed forward, Zim and tracker in hand, toward a gap in the rocks ahead.

The narrow crevice tore at both Dib and Zim as Dib fought his way into it. Inch by miserable inch, Dib squeezed them deeper inside, until at last, the space opened into a small, conical hollow, barely the size of Zim’s kitchen.

Behind them, the creekitee’s claw scrabbled at the opening but failed to reach inside.

Zim focused on Dib’s thundering heart as Dib sank against the opposite wall, still holding Zim close to his chest. For a long while, the two could only sit in silence, panting and whimpering, waiting for the claw to stop its assault.

At last, the creekitee seemed to tire of its hapless attempts to reach its prey. Zim curled in on himself, grinding his teeth to resist the terrible throb of the wound across his middle while still trying to listen for the monster with his trembling antennae.

Silence. Awful, wonderful silence, broken only by Dib’s hoarse voice.

“Zim… I’m going to fucking kill you.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heads up! Things got gorier than expected in this chapter. Nothing too gross, just a lot of magenta blood. You know how it goes. (Also, I'm so deeply appreciative of your comments and kudos! I was very nervous to share my writing. Thank you for reading! I hope it brightens your day! Despite the, erm, angst.)

_This whole situation,_ Dib thought as he caught his breath, _is well and truly fucked._

He regretted his harsh words, but only a little. He could barely keep afloat in the stormy sea of emotions swirling in his head. The tallest waves consisted of fear, the pure kind that he remembered from his childhood: unfiltered, abject terror at something incomprehensible and deadly. He hadn’t been this scared since he’d started roaming the stars with Zim, not even when they’d had a surprise encounter with laser-wielding smugglers. At least in that situation, Dib felt like he was discovering something, like he wasn’t totally clueless. He and Zim had taken up a job investigating a supposedly haunted mansion on a planet with an unpronounceable name. The spooky screams and creepy shadows? All part of an act to keep the locals away from a smuggler’s den.

Dib allowed a slight, exhausted smile at the memory. Sure, getting his hand grazed by laser fire was less than ideal, and perhaps things could have gone much worse, but he and Zim had come out on top in the end, right? They solved a mystery, scared away off-world smugglers, were even given a hero’s welcome by the natives. And yeah, the celebratory party involved a lot of squirming, Eldritchian hors d’oeuvres, but it was the thought that counted. Man, that had felt good.

The fear that fought for control of Dib’s mind now was very different from the thrill of battling a ragtag outfit of incompetent criminals (staging a haunting in order to disguise the workings of a cartel that primarily dealt in space-jelly? That was Scooby-Doo grade villainy at best, aside from the energy weapons). This fear came with a paralyzing sense of helplessness, and Dib couldn’t stand it.

But terror wasn’t the only emotion at play. Even as he clutched Zim’s quivering and uncharacteristically quiet form close to his chest, Dib seethed. This entire disaster could have been averted. They’d gone in ill-prepared and underequipped and it was by luck alone that they weren’t crab food already. All Dib wanted to do was give Zim a piece of his mind, but…

In Dib’s lap, Zim suddenly spasmed and groaned. Dib eased his hold on the alien and pulled back his mask to better see him.

“Put… mask back on,” Zim hissed, glaring through narrowed eyelids at Dib’s uncovered face.

“It’s fine. There’s barely any sand in here, and I need to get a good look at you,” Dib said.

Zim tightened his arms across his middle defensively. “No need. I’ll heal in… nnnn…. no time.”

Dib had watched Zim recover from injuries before. Lacerations stopped bleeding within minutes, no matter their depth. Bruises faded just as quickly, as did burns. Dib would never say it out loud, but the PAK really was a miraculous invention from a medical perspective. He’d seen it in action too many times to deny that.

Which is why he felt so uneasy now as he inspected the fresh, deep pink blood coating his hands. The fact that Zim hadn’t scrambled out of his grasp already also raised a few red flags. Still, Dib would have to walk on eggshells with Zim if he wanted him to cooperate.

“I’m going to hail GIR so he can pick us up,” Dib said, though his faith in the robot was tenuous at best. “Surely the weapons on the cruiser can fry that crab monster if it’s still stalking us out there.”

Zim grunted in affirmation, squeezing his eyes tightly shut and nuzzling into Dib’s chest, instantly raising Dib’s alarm levels from concern to borderline panic. If jumpy, touch-averse, germaphobe Zim was snuggling with him, something was truly wrong. The two had a… _unique_ friendship, to be sure, and while Zim had gradually permitted more physical contact over their months in close quarters, cuddling was unheard of. Or _mostly_ unheard of, but Dib knew better than to bring up the fluke instances of Zim leaning against him on the small couch of the expanded Voot Cruiser while they watched movies during long stints between jobs.

Dib tapped at the device on his wrist (his own invention, sleek and clean-lined and nothing like the Membracelet, thank you very much). To his disappointment, the small holographic display failed to project properly. The image of his communication screen flickered and failed to clarify regardless of how Dib shook it about.

“Sand. Gets in everything,” Zim muttered into Dib’s shirt, one half-open eye observing the glitching device.

“Not in this,” Dib said, a hint of pride distracting him from his anxiety. “The TransDibber is completely sealed from the elements.”

“Stupid name.”

Dib felt color rising in his cheeks. “Shut up. It’s a work in progress. Anyway, this baby is completely waterproof and designed for the extreme conditions of space travel. There’s no way a little bit of sand is throwing it off.”

_Unless…_

Judging by the twitching of Zim’s antennae, he must have realized it at the same time as Dib. Dib fumbled for his bag, prompting Zim to finally shift out of his lap, though he didn’t make it far. Zim sat against the wall next to Dib, knees drawn to his chest, watching silently as Dib pulled out the lifeform tracker. Disconcerting red splotches covered most of the radar-like screen.

“A sandstorm,” Dib breathed in disbelief. He tilted his head back, looking up through the natural skylight at the top of the little cavern, a good 50 feet above them. Sure enough, the yellow sky seemed to have dimmed, casting an ominous gloom into their hollow.

“It’s nothing to worry about,” Zim said, holding his head up higher. “In fact, this is good news. The storm will drive the creekitee away, and once it passes, we can call GIR and…” He paused for breath, his face a paler shade of green than Dib had seen before, but maybe it was just the thin light of the cave. “…and I can try finding it again and capturing it.”

Dib blinked. “Are you _insane?_ That thing nearly killed us! No _way_ are we going after it again, especially not with you in this condition.”

“Zim will be completely recovered by the time our communications are back up,” Zim snarled, antennae pinned back in aggression.

“Except you _aren’t_ recovering,” Dib insisted, raising his voice, unable to hold back his frustration. “Zim, I think something’s wrong with your PAK-”

“YOU LIE!” Zim screeched, almost before the end of Dib’s sentence. He leapt to his feet so quickly that Dib briefly doubted his previous assessment of Zim’s health. Sharp PAK legs jerked into position, but something was off. They moved jaggedly, stuttering and clanking clumsily against the stone floor. Dib was too accustomed to Zim’s attempts at intimidation to flinch, but he kept himself out of stabbing range just in case, as Zim didn’t appear to have full control of the wobbling metal limbs.

Zim’s feet made it about three inches off the ground before the legs gave way and dropped him face down on the floor, forcing a short cry of pain from the alien’s throat.

“Zim!” Dib knelt by him as the PAK legs twitched and slowly retracted, grimacing at the grating noise that accompanied the action. One leg failed to pull completely inside the PAK, leaving about a foot of it dangling out of Zim’s back.

“Nothing… is wrong… with Zim’s PAK,” Zim groaned into the rock floor.

Dib rolled his eyes but was too worried to be actually angry with the stubborn space goblin. “Sure, Zim, this all seems extremely normal,” he snarked. “Come on, let me take a look at it.”

“KEEP YOUR FILTHY HANDS OFF MY PAK!”

Suddenly, Zim was up again. This time, no PAK legs emerged, leaving Zim swaying on his feet with a feral glimmer in his ruby eyes. He spread his arms to the side, daring Dib to try to reach around him to his back. Reflexively, Dib covered his mouth at the sight of Zim’s now exposed stomach. The front of his tunic was shredded and saturated with blood. Through the torn fabric, Dib glimpsed the beginning of a deep gash, still wet and weeping. Bile burned in Dib’s esophagus but he swallowed it back, determined to maintain his cool.

“Fine! Fine, I won’t touch your PAK, but at least let me look at that cut,” Dib pleaded, his hands raised in a gesture of peace.

One of Zim’s hands moved in front of his wound, as if to hide it. “It is fine. It will be fine. My… PAK is… it’s…”

The light in Zim’s eyes abruptly burned out, and Dib barely managed to catch Zim on his way back down. He eased him to the floor, stretching him on his back, angled slightly to the side to account for the PAK and its errant leg.

Dib snapped his fingers in front of Zim’s foggy, half-closed eyes. “Zim? Hey, come on, stay with me.”

To Dib’s relief, Zim blinked and tried to mumble something. That was probably good news? Dib wasn’t sure. Thanks to the PAK, Dib never had to worry too much about Zim’s health. The few times he’d expressed alarm, Zim had teased him for his own human fragility.

“I’m going to stop the bleeding,” Dib informed Zim, trying to sound authoritative despite the slight tremor in his voice.

“No… need…” Zim slurred, waving a limp claw.

“Here’s an idea, Zim. Why don’t you shut up for once in your life and let me help you?” Dib said as he withdrew his first aid kit from his bag. The bandages and medicine inside were meant for him, not for supposedly superior Irkens. Dib grinned a little at the indignation Zim would probably feel about all of this once they were off of Sirus Minor. Maybe this was just the thing to keep Zim’s ego in check. It was a pretty dull silver lining to look forward to, but Dib needed something optimistic to cling to as he unfurled a length of gauze.

“Here, sit up a little,” Dib instructed, pulling Zim forward by the shoulder so he could slide the bag under his head as a pillow. Zim cringed as he was adjusted but didn’t argue.

“OK. I’m gonna… um…” Dib hesitated at the bottom of Zim’s ruined shirt, fidgeting with his medical gloves. There was a time when he’d fantasized about slicing into Zim’s abdomen in order to document his inner workings and become the first human to expose the Irken race. He’d dreamt of becoming a renowned xenobiologist, respected and adored, praised as the hero of planet Earth.

Dib took hold of the blood-soaked fabric, resisting the sensation of guilt that flooded his head. He made the mistake of looking at Zim’s face and reading the fear in the alien’s eyes, focused on him, unblinking. Dib had once craved that expression of terror and defeat, but now it sickened him. He tore his gaze away, trying to forget the nervous tremble of Zim’s antennae, the sharp pull of his frown.

Dib peeled up the tunic as Zim hissed. “I know, I know…” Dib murmured as the hiss melted into a feeble cry. “I’m sorry…”

Dib didn’t need a degree in xenobiology to know the wound in front of him was _bad._ The gash started at the edge of Zim’s ribcage and angled across his body to the top of his pelvis. He couldn’t tell how deep it went… Too much blood still pooled there, a lake of magenta, obscuring the fading green of Zim’s skin.

Inhaling deeply to steady his nerves, Dib recalled his emergency first aid techniques and began to pack the wound with gauze. Zim’s breath hitched and his claws balled into fists, but he didn’t fight back. He’d been so adamant about his PAK that Dib was worried he wouldn’t let him treat the injury. Instead, surprisingly, he was taking it like a champ. That or Zim was too weak to keep making a scene about it.

Dib began to wrap an elastic bandage around Zim, lifting him gently to pass the roll behind his back. He pulled the bandage tight, eliciting a yelp from his patient. Zim’s claws wrapped around Dib as he passed the roll around again, gripping his back, threatening to puncture his skin as Dib pulled it taut once more.

“I’m sorry,” Dib mumbled again into the crook of Zim’s neck. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry…”

The bandage adhered to itself. Dib pressed his palm against the outside of the wrapping, like his first aid booklet had instructed him to do. Zim didn’t let go. His arms locked around Dib’s body, head over his shoulder, breathing fast. Dib sensed the warm dampness of tears in his hair.

“It’s OK,” Dib whispered. “You’re OK. It’s over.”

Zim shuddered and didn’t reply.

Dib hated this. It was all too wrong. Back in his skool days, he and Zim had beaten the shit out of each other plenty of times. Sometimes Dib suspected that Zim was holding back, especially after the Florpus Hole incident. The stakes of their fights lowered year by year until it was little more than routine, and then a pastime, and then an excuse to bicker for a while before giving up and playing video games. Dib didn’t comment on Zim’s decision to move his base to the city where Dib had gone to study folklore and sociology. And then there was the first time Zim casually offered to take Dib to space to gather some “superior folktales” from distant planets… in exchange for using Dib as bait for dangerous creatures.

But then not actually using him as bait. In fact, keeping an exceptionally close eye on all Dib’s doings, never failing to intervene at the first sign of a threat. Dib interpreted it as possessive behavior. As close to affection as an Irken could get, perhaps.

Behind Zim’s back, Dib removed a bloodied glove to inspect the laser scar on his hand, and a few pieces of the puzzle clicked into place.

His thoughts were interrupted by Zim’s quiet, raw voice.

“Is… this what it’s always like?”

“What?”

Zim didn’t answer for a few seconds. “It… hurts. It just keeps… hurting…”

Ah, right. If Zim’s PAK wasn’t healing him, it probably wasn’t administering a painkiller either. Zim’s experiences with pain had probably always been intense but brief, Dib realized. This was all kinds of new territory for him.

“Yeah, kind of,” Dib said, voice soft. Zim’s skin was so warm. Everything was so damn warm on this miserable planet, but still. “I mean, I’ve never been hurt like this, but yeah. It lingers.”

A few minutes of silence passed. Dib wondered if Zim had fallen asleep, and whether that should alarm him.

Above them, the wind howled across the opening of the cavern, and the sky darkened into a murky orange. The storm was getting worse, but at least it didn’t seem to be infiltrating their shelter.

“You’ll go back to Earth. After this,” Zim stated, his words a bit firmer than before.

Dib held Zim closer. “We’re not going back.”

“You should,” Zim said. “You will. It’s an order.”

“You’re not the boss of me.”

“My ship. My rules.” Zim’s claws dug into Dib’s back, forcing the human to arch away from him.

“OW! Jesus, Zim, what’s wrong with you?!” Dib asked, pushing away from the alien.

Zim bared his zipper-like teeth. “NOTHING. Nothing is wrong with Zim.”

“Would you quit it? Something is obviously-” Dib cut himself off. Whatever he’d said about Zim and his PAK had sent the Irken into a frenzy before. Best to approach the topic more delicately. He carefully leaned Zim back into a prone position, disregarding the menacing look in his eyes.

“OK, look,” Dib tried again. “You’re badly hurt, and your PAK isn’t repairing you-”

Zim’s claws raked against the rock floor.

“- _fast_ enough,” Dib finished, attempting to appease him. Zim stilled, though he still scowled up at Dib, his thin upper lip quivering over his teeth. Good enough. “The sand must have jammed something in there. You _know_ I’m good with machines. I’ve fixed your equipment before.”

Zim scoffed.

Dib fixed him with a serious look. “I have. And I did a damn good job.”

“For an Earthling,” Zim said.

That was probably the closest thing to agreement Dib was going to get, so he rolled with it. “Right. Let me take a look at it. Maybe I can get it functioning enough to hold you over until the storm breaks.”

“I’d rather die than allow you to place a single disgusting digit inside me.”

“Ew. Zim. No. Do you even hear yourself when you talk?” Dib said, pinching the bridge of his nose and trying to ignore the grim connotations of Zim’s phrasing.

“I don’t need your help. Zim is fine.”

 _You’re fucking dying,_ Dib wanted to say. More of Zim’s blood appeared to be on the floor of the cave than inside of him. Rage sparked in Dib’s soul.

“Oh, you’re fine? Are you sure?” he asked, pressing his palm once again against Zim’s bandages.

Zim howled and flailed his limbs, instantly filling Dib with regret. But he couldn’t show his hand now. He had to maintain his bluff if he wanted Zim to see reason.

“A dose of your space-bug morphine would be _real_ nice right now, wouldn’t it?”

“STOP! Stop stop stop stop stop!” Zim demanded. His sharp-nailed hands lifted into the air and Dib suddenly wondered if he’d pushed Zim too far. Those claws could easily tear through Dib’s skin, and at this point, Dib couldn’t really blame him for lashing out.

Instead of slashing him, however, Zim’s hands reached behind his own back, where they disengaged his PAK. The metal casing clunked onto the ground and before Dib could restrain him, Zim had twisted around to pick it up. The alien pulled it into his lap, clutching it protectively to his chest and glowering at Dib with that same wild intensity that he had when Dib first suggested an issue with the PAK.

“Whoa, wait, I don’t think-” Dib stammered.

“I’ll fix it myself!” Zim shouted, voice ragged.

“You’re being ridiculous. Just tell me what to look for, and I can help you,” Dib begged. He reached a hand toward Zim but was forced to draw it back as the Irken literally snapped at him, a thin trail of pink blood escaping the corner of his mouth as he did.

Dib held his hand close to his chest, even though Zim hadn’t managed to sink his teeth into it. “What the hell is _wrong_ with you? You’d seriously rather bleed to death than let me look at your stupid alien brain box?” His anger fizzled and a tinge of hurt entered his voice. “Why can’t you just fucking trust me?”

Zim’s vicious expression didn’t falter. “I’ll do it myself,” he growled.

Dib sank back, defeated. “Zim…”

Zim turned the PAK around in his lap, casting wary glances at Dib as he went. He angled the device away from Dib, hiding its interior from the human as he popped open a panel with a shaky claw. Dib watched helplessly as Zim struggled to control his unsteady hands and keep the PAK propped up on his legs. After a few seconds, Zim’s head began to bob, as if he were fighting off sleep. Dib drummed his fingers on his knees anxiously, unsure of what to do. Maybe he could keep Zim talking, prevent him from passing out, maybe even convince him to accept his offer.

“You should put it back on. You look even worse than before, which I didn’t think was possible,” Dib said, hoping to rile him up.

“I have… time,” Zim said, swallowing between words and keeping his eyes on his project.

“Ten minutes, right? That’s as long as you can go without your PAK?” Dib said, cautiously scooting a little closer.

Zim grunted and pulled at something inside the PAK.

“And that’s when you’re in perfect health. Which you aren’t.”

Zim paused and for a moment Dib thought he saw a wrinkle of worry in his brow. One antenna shifted forward. Progress, maybe?

“Can I at least… watch you work?” Dib said.

Zim’s eyes shifted and Dib thought he might have a chance. But then Zim shook his head, as if snapping himself out of something.

“No,” Zim said, but his previous fury had died away. Now he sounded… scared? “No one must see it.”

Dib considered the odd wording and changed tactics, appealing to Zim’s pride. “Just as well, I guess. I’m sure my inferior human mind wouldn’t understand what I was looking at anyway.”

Surprisingly, Zim didn’t take the bait. “It’s not that complex. There is… a filtration system. It probably…”

He paused to cough, and Dib couldn’t help but notice the spatter of blood that clung to the PAK’s casing as a result. Dib cursed under his breath.

“Clogged. Can empty it,” Zim said roughly.

“A filtration system… Kind of like the Voot’s?” Dib asked, hopeful.

Zim nodded stiffly, then winced in pain. His eyelids fluttered as he began to slump to one side. When Dib caught him and sat him back up, he didn’t resist. Zim blinked slowly, recalibrating to his situation.

Inspiration struck.

“That’s a great idea, Zim,” Dib said, trying to sound authentic.

Zim’s antennae twitched toward him. “Eh? What is?”

“What you just said. About putting your PAK back on for a few minutes to regain your strength,” Dib said.

“What? I don’t remember…”

Dib held his breath.

Zim shrugged loosely. “Huh… Yes. Of course it’s a great idea.”

 _Perfect, you narcissistic space gremlin,_ Dib thought as Zim strained to lift his PAK from his lap. Wordlessly, Dib slipped his hands beneath the PAK and helped guide it behind Zim.

“Wait,” Zim said, causing Dib to flinch in anticipation of another outburst. Instead, Zim’s hand – disconcertingly cool in spite of the heat – caught Dib’s shoulder. Zim’s features were no longer tight with rage. Dib wasn’t sure how to interpret the weight of Zim’s expression…

“Don’t look inside,” Zim whispered. “Please.”

Desperation. Sorrow. Fear.

Dib said nothing as he clicked the PAK back into place. His hands floated above the ports as he debated his decision. It would have been so much easier if Zim hadn’t looked so… broken. As illogical as it was, Dib wished Zim was still snarling and combative. That way, maybe Dib would feel less ashamed about what he was about to do.

Why had Zim done that? Said “please”? That wasn’t supposed to be in his vocabulary.

Dib pressed his lips tightly together. He had no choice.

“I’m sorry,” Dib said as he opened the main access port on Zim’s PAK.

Zim’s body went instantly rigid as one of Dib’s hands reached into the port. Dib’s other arm encircled Zim’s torso, holding him in place as the Irken began to thrash. Dib waited for the tirade of insults and threats to fall on his ears as he peered into the glowing depths of the PAK, but Zim only screamed.

A string of apologies spilled out of Dib’s mouth as he fished through the impossibly spacious device. In any other circumstance, he would have been elated at the opportunity to study the physics-defying contraption. As it was, he had to remain completely on task. A tall order, considering the bucking, wailing alien attached to the PAK.

“No! Stop! Please!” Zim cried, his words barely discernible at such a frantic pitch.

Dib shut out Zim’s begging and dodged the uncoordinated flailing of his claws. Just as he’d hoped, the PAK’s design echoed most of the Irken tech Dib had familiarized himself with during their months in space. The Irkens seemed to have an appreciation for an organic aesthetic: soft curves, irregular and yet perfectly engineered tubes, rich purples and pinks that almost echoed the color palette of human organs. Navigating the shifting interior of the PAK felt oddly intuitive to Dib after so many years of trying to understand it.

“I can fix it!” Zim sounded manic, even more desperate than before. His breathing was out of control, but there was nothing Dib could do for that except hurry his efforts.

“Hang on, buddy,” Dib said in the calmest voice he could muster, trying to soothe the panicking Irken even as he rooted around in what was essentially his brain. “I’m working on it. You’re OK.”

As Dib stumbled upon a promising panel (how had it appeared like that? Had it been there before?), one of Zim’s claws finally connected with his face. Dib sucked in a sharp breath as the nail sliced his cheek. He probably deserved that.

“Please, my Tallest! I can fix it! I can fix it!!!”

Dib froze with his fingers on a circular structure reminiscent of the ventilation portal of the Voot Cruiser. “Zim, it’s me. It’s Dib.”

Zim’s writhing weakened. “No, my Tallest, please… Zim is not defective… I’ll… I can…”

Zim was delirious. His tearful eyes stared out at nothing as he threw the last of his energy into tugging haplessly at the arm Dib held around his middle.

For a second, Dib didn’t understand why his own vision blurred. Tears…? He paused to wipe them away from beneath his glasses so they wouldn’t interfere with his work. He could unpack all of this later, once they were safe on the Voot. He checked the skylight again, though he couldn’t decide whether the storm that billowed by was slowing down or not.

Dib pulled out a small round device, coated in red sand. As soon as it left the confines of the PAK, it shivered in Dib’s grasp, dislodging itself of the sand on its own. Dib tilted it around, eyeing it closely. Was that all it took? Zim had allowed him to repair much more complex pieces of equipment on the Voot before. Why had he made such a big deal over the PAK?

But Dib suspected he already knew the answer.

“Don’t… delete…” Zim murmured feverishly as Dib placed the filter back in position. “Don’t… want to die…”

“You’re not going to die,” Dib said, closing the PAK’s exterior port. “I’ve got you.”

Zim’s eyes closed and he exhaled slowly. The stuck PAK leg finally drew itself back inside.

Dib held his friend close and lost himself in the gentle, regular sound of Zim’s breathing.


	3. Chapter 3

All he wanted to do was sleep. Of course, unlike so many lower lifeforms, Irkens didn’t require sleep, but that didn’t mean that Zim didn’t crave it once in a while. And in that moment, he craved it immensely.

Unfortunately, intolerably bright lights forced him into consciousness.

Zim sneered and pushed himself up in search of the light source, ready to extinguish it using his lasers if it came to that. Sitting up, however, proved more difficult than anticipated. His body felt too heavy, and his head swam with the effort of moving.

“MASTER!”

Zim cringed at the muffled shout of his loyal hench-robot. Squinting against the intense light, he made out GIR’s silhouette on the other side of a foggy glass barrier. The repair pod. A structure he rarely saw the interior of, little more than a capsule built into the wall of the expanded Voot Cruiser, used more regularly as additional storage space than as a healing unit. A device designed with Dib in mind, fragile creature that he was.

So, why…?

“GIR, not yet. I asked you to give him space.”

Zim’s antennae bumped against the top of the repair pod at the sound of Dib’s voice. Immense relief flowed through his body. Odd…

Whatever. He couldn’t tolerate being trapped in this too-bright box any longer, so he banged on the roof of it with his fist.

From the other side of the glass, Dib shouted an Earthling curse.

“Release Zim at once!” Zim ordered, thumping the side of the pod this time. His movements felt slow and clumsy.

“Easy, space-boy! I’m working on it,” Dib said. His hazy outline loomed over the pod as he typed something into the control panel.

With a hiss of pressurized air, the pod unsealed. Before the lid could fully retract, Zim was up and trying to climb out of it. His knees buckled when he attempted to stand, but Dib’s hands caught him and pulled him upright, leaning him against the pod for stability.

“Whoa, slow down. I don’t think you should be up yet.”

“What are you chattering about, Dib-stink? Why did you… what…” Zim couldn’t hold onto his thoughts. They flickered through his brain like fireflies, dimming before he could capture them.

“Let’s sit for a second, OK? You’re probably a little disoriented.”

Zim wanted to fight him but couldn’t find the energy for it. He allowed Dib to guide him across the cabin of the Voot to the little couch that folded into the floor when not in use. GIR jumped on it giddily, clapping his metal hands together.

“GIR, down,” Dib instructed, and – shock of the century – GIR obeyed.

The little robot flopped off the couch and ran straight for Zim. Zim had been tackled by his enthusiastic minion more times than he could count, but this time, GIR’s weight was more difficult to shoulder. He barely kept himself upright as GIR hugged him tightly. Why did his body ache so much? Zim unintentionally whimpered at the pressure, even as he hugged GIR back.

Dib gently separated the two, keeping one hand on Zim’s back for support. “OK, maybe that’s enough of that for the moment. Weren’t you working on something, GIR?”

Zim swore he could hear the circuitry firing in GIR’s electronic brain. After a long few seconds of thought, GIR’s mouth opened wide in realization. “THE RANGOONS.”

GIR dashed toward the port to the galley as if the ship were burning. Which wasn’t out of the realm of possibility.

As if reading his thoughts, Dib spoke. “It’s fine. It’s probably fine.”

“I designed the galley to seal itself and suppress the flames when it catches fire,” Zim said, settling onto the couch with Dib’s assistance.

“When? Not if?”

“I said what I said.”

Dib chuckled at that, and despite his bone-deep weariness, Zim smiled too. As Dib took a seat next to him, Zim studied the human’s face and noticed a white bandage across his cheek. Both antennae involuntarily swiveled forward, hovering near the injury.

“Hey! You’re tickling me!” Dib complained as the tips of Zim’s antennae skated along his chin and up the side of his face.

Self-conscious, Zim pulled his antennae back and deliberately pinned them against his head. “Er. Sorry. Your cheek…”

“Oh.” Dib lifted a hand to touch the bandage. “It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it. How are you feeling?”

“Don’t change the subject,” Zim said, frowning. “What hap-”

The memories returned in a tidal wave. The red dunes, the creekitee, the rock shelter, the pain…

Zim reached for his waist and discovered unfamiliar clothing. No, not unfamiliar…

“Is this your shirt?”

Dib’s face turned pink. “Uh, yeah. I’m so sorry, Zim, but your uniform is a lost cause. But, I mean, it might be time to retire it, don’t you think?”

Zim looked down at the blue cloth and absentmindedly fiddled with the hem. He remembered most of what had happed on Sirus Minor, but toward the end, the images turned hazy. So much of it had felt like a dream. If dreams could entail excruciating pain, of course.

Zim gingerly lifted the shirt and found a pale, jagged scar crossing his torso.

“Hey, easy…”

Zim’s breathing had picked up without his noticing. He tried to slow it.

“Do you remember what happened?” Dib asked.

“The creekitee…” Zim started, then shook his head. “No. Irkens do not scar. Not from a mere flesh wound.”

“I wouldn’t call that a ‘mere flesh wound’,” Dib said, nodding at the scar. “Sand got in your PAK when you were protecting me. It messed up your healing process. I think it screwed up the whole wound, changed how it was able to heal… Not even the repair pod has made much progress on the scar tissue. I think… I think that’s going to stay with you.”

Zim let the fabric fall back into place, unable to look at it any longer.

Dib sighed. “We need to talk about what happened, Zim.”

“There’s little to discuss,” Zim said. For reasons he still couldn’t quite pin down, he sensed the need to put the whole debacle behind them as fast as possible. Perhaps a quick debriefing was required; nothing more. “We found the creekitee, slightly misjudged its, er, proportions, and then I…” He searched for the most dignified way to summarize his experience. “I was briefly out of commission, but then I presume the sandstorm passed and we were able to summon the ship. The end.”

“You know there’s more than that,” Dib said, his dark brows knitting together.

Zim found it difficult to meet Dib’s eyes, and so stared ahead at the soft lights of the cockpit’s control panel. He had to give Dib something to get him off his back. “Fine. The mission was a failure. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

Dib laughed humorlessly. “A _failure,_ Zim? It was a catastrophe! We were almost crab food!”

“Zim would never allow that to happen.”

Dib dragged his hands down his face in exasperation. “God, you seriously live in a permanent state of denial, don’t you? OK, let me remind you that if it weren’t for me, you’d be _dead_ right now.”

More memories sparked to life in Zim’s mind, but he shoved them aside in favor of anger. “Don’t flatter yourself, Earth-monkey. My PAK preserved me, just as it always has.”

“I can’t tell if you’re completely out of touch with reality or if you really don’t remember me fixing your PAK,” Dib said, his tone a mixture of dumbfounded and annoyed.

Zim flinched. “No. No, that isn’t right. I would never permit you to touch my PAK.”

He met the human’s deep amber eyes for a second, searching for truth, fearing what he’d find. He subtly sat on his hands to hide their trembling.

“Yeah, I know, you made that very clear,” Dib snapped, but Zim sensed there wasn’t much actual vitriol to his words. “And we need to talk more about that, but first, let me say this: I know what you were trying to do on Sirus Minor.”

That threw Zim off a little. “Um, yeah. We went there to catch creekitees. I thought we were on the same page with that.”

“No, I mean…” Dib crossed his arms. “Well, yes, but I know why you chose that job, and why you didn’t involve me with that decision. You were trying to protect me by picking some simple, theoretically safe task, and you knew I wouldn’t want to waste my time with something so boring when there’s a universe of incredible things to discover instead. So you arranged it behind my back and, as usual, failed to do your homework beforehand.”

Before Zim could argue, Dib clicked something on his TransDibber, remotely opening a display in the cockpit ahead of them. The screen filled with the advertisement that had inspired Zim to take them to Sirus Minor. The ad was flashy and colorful and involved a cute cartoon of a creekitee, dancing back and forth on the bottom of the screen, looking completely innocuous. Dib scrolled the ad down, revealing paragraph after paragraph of disclaimers and warnings.

“It’s not my fault that they hid all the important stuff in the fine print,” Zim dismissed, even as Dib continued to scroll through the impossibly long list of hazards and liability waivers. “Zim doesn’t have time for such details.”

Dib pressed the heel of his hand into his forehead, as if holding back a headache. “That’s another conversation we need to have, but for right now, let’s stay on topic. Here’s what I think happened: I think you got freaked out when I was hurt during our last job and so jumped at the chance for something with fewer lasers involved. Even though it had nothing to do with why we’re out here in the first place.”

Zim bristled. “Even if that were true, why are you complaining? Wouldn’t you rather be safe? Your human body is so pathetically vulnerable.”

Dib ran his thumb over the smooth, fading scar on the back of his other hand. “I didn’t come to space to be safe. I came to be with you.”

Zim’s antennae shot straight up. For once, he was speechless.

Dib continued, hands clasped together, eyes gazing out the cockpit window into the sea of stars beyond. “You’re my best friend and I trust you, Zim. Despite everything. Maybe that makes me an idiot, but I don’t think so. I came to space to find new stories and explore weird worlds and kick alien ass. I mean, the aliens whose asses _need_ kicking, of course.”

“Y-yeah, of course,” Zim stammered, a bit dazed.

“I knew you’d have my back out here. And yeah, sometimes you’re an insufferable jerk who accidentally puts our lives in danger, but I guess the same could be said of me. What I’m trying to say is that I chose to be here, and that I’m capable of holding my own. And no, I wasn’t a child soldier like you, and no, I don’t have a PAK to flood me with painkillers for every papercut, but I’m tougher than you think, and I’d rather be here with you than anywhere in the universe. So you need to buck up and trust that I’ll take care of you too. No matter what. We’re partners. Got it?”

Zim opened his mouth but couldn’t seem to find anything to say. He digested Dib’s words slowly, struggling to make sense of it all. Dib looked like he was waiting on him, but the wheels of his mind simply couldn’t turn fast enough to process this information.

When it was clear Zim couldn’t respond, Dib turned his attention back to his clasped hands. “So… I guess this brings me to the other thing. Do you remember anything at all about me fixing your PAK?”

Zim wanted to say no and just get this uncomfortable, confusing conversation over with. The unfortunate truth was that he _did_ remember, if only in a vague, dreamlike way. Dib’s eyes lifted toward him again, fixing him in place, silently begging for something Zim wasn’t sure he could give.

Zim’s focus lingered on Dib’s bandage for a few seconds. He made his decision.

“I remember,” he said, barely audible over the gentle hum of the ship. “I asked you not to look inside.”

“I know, and I’m sorry,” Dib said. “Why, Zim? What were you so afraid of?”

“I…” Zim bit his lip as all of his mechanisms of self-preservation activated, demanding that he shut this discussion down immediately. Dib had already seen too much. Zim had to cling to whatever shreds of dignity he still had left. The consequences of Dib learning the whole truth… Zim wasn’t ready to face a future like that.

Dib’s words echoed in his head. _“We’re partners. Got it?”_

He owed Dib an answer. He had to try.

“As difficult as it is to believe, Zim’s PAK may be… defective,” he said, spitting the last word out as if he could distance himself from it. “This is an unacceptable situation for a member of the Irken Empire. Such aberrations typically are not permitted to exist. Evaluations are conducted for the purpose of identifying defective individuals and…”

Zim couldn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t realize he was shivering until Dib’s warm hand settled on his shoulder, stilling him.

“Deleting them,” Dib finished for him, somberly.

So he _had_ said those things out loud, back on Sirus Minor. Zim suddenly wished he’d succumbed to exsanguination just so he could avoid the massive pit of shame into which he now spiraled. But it was too late to turn back now.

Zim straightened up and drew a deep breath, pleased that Dib’s hand remained in place as he moved. “I underwent such an evaluation not long after I’d established myself on Earth. The details surrounding the incident are… complicated. At the time, I thought my Tallests were playing a prank on me and then rewarding me for my general amazingness. But after I learned the truth about my mission, I had to rethink the events of that day.

“I believe my PAK’s data did something to the Control Brains during my trial, possibly even damaged them. I think that’s the only reason I was spared. Just a fluke. My Tallests had intended to kill me all along.”

Zim had never put words to this theory before. In fact, he’d mostly banished these thoughts from his mind. Easier to simply hide whatever mysteries lurked in his PAK than to face the truth of himself. That he was too broken to even be destroyed. That the entities he loved and trusted most in the universe could look at him and see only bad data to be scrubbed from his peoples’ history. A stain. Nothing more.

He felt so small. He couldn’t look at Dib’s face, and he hated the suffocating silence that hung over them. How could he expect Dib to place his trust in something so damaged? It would be unfair of him. Dib deserved better. He deserved a way out.

“Dib… I understand if, in light of this information, you find it necessary to terminate our partnership.”

He braced himself, determined to smother whatever emotion tried to flare up within him at Dib’s inevitable answer. He wouldn’t let the human see him weak again.

But Dib didn’t voice his answer right away. Instead, he pulled Zim into a deep hug, his long arms crossed beneath Zim’s PAK. Zim froze for a few seconds, surprised by the response, unsure of its meaning. He’d just exposed himself as defective. By definition, Dib had every right to reject him.

When Dib spoke, his voice was low and dangerous. “I hope your leaders are still being shredded down to their last atoms by the Florpus Hole.”

So much for smothering emotions. Zim squeezed Dib closer, his body reacting faster than his brain, tears welling in his eyes, spilling down his face and onto Dib’s shoulder. Too many feelings collided in his exhausted heart. Gratitude, relief, embarrassment… All the goopy emotions his PAK was supposed to suppress but had never quite managed to. As much as he resented it, Zim also felt grief for the Empire he had inadvertently doomed.

But the most powerful emotion by far was one of brotherhood, a concept Zim hadn’t even known prior to his fake mission to Earth.

The galley port slid open and Dib and Zim flung themselves to opposite sides of the tiny couch, frantically drying their damp faces as GIR danced into the cabin.

“IT’S RACOON TIME!” the robot exclaimed, clanging his head with his fists as if it were a dinner bell.

“Oh, uh, the rangoons are done…?” Dib’s voice cracked.

GIR instantly sobered. “That’s what I said.”

“We’ll be right there, GIR,” Zim said, and cleared his throat.

GIR tilted his head, his irritatingly perceptive eyes analyzing his shipmates. “OK. You can come when you’s done crying.”

Both organic members of the crew exhaled in relief as GIR tottered back to the galley.

Once Zim was satisfied that GIR wouldn’t pop back in (not that such a thing could be predicted), he turned to Dib and extended his hand. “So. Partners?”

Dib smirked and clapped his hand into Zim’s to shake. “Partners.”

Zim smiled and stood, almost tripping over the too-long hem of his borrowed shirt. Perhaps Dib was right. The time had come for Zim to pick his own wardrobe. Zim made his way to the main cockpit display, intent on finding a nearby planet to plan a future shopping trip.

“Hey, Zim?”

“Hm?” Zim continued tapping through menus, looking for the correct navigational screen.

“You didn’t really think I was going to deactivate you or something, right? When I looked in your PAK?”

Zim considered. “No, I suppose I didn’t,” he said, surprising himself with his answer. “I didn’t know what you’d do if you saw the corruption, but no, I didn’t really think you’d… you know.”

“OK. Good.”

Zim offered Dib a half smile and returned to the work at hand. He squinted at the map screen, confused. “Wait, this isn’t right. We can’t be this far from the Sironova system.”

“Dude, you were out for almost a week.”

“WHAT?”

Dib covered his ears a little too late. “Jeez, Zim, calm down! I thought you probably needed another few days in there, to be honest. That crab really did a number on you. Speaking of which…” Dib reached over Zim’s shoulder and pulled up a trajectory. “I found a place where we might be able to sell some of the creekitee meat. I’ve been piloting us there.”

Zim looked up at Dib, impressed. “You managed to kill that thing?”

“Well, GIR did,” Dib admitted. “After the storm passed, the creekitee was still out there, waiting for us. Luckily, GIR arrived to blast it to pieces with the Voot. I mean, he just obliterated the thing. It was…” A distant look entered Dib’s eyes. “Horrifying, actually. We managed to salvage a few of its legs, and apparently, per your stupid ad, creekitees are safe to eat. So we have a decent amount of space-crab meat now. At least until we sell the excess at the market planet I found.”

Zim thumbed toward the galley. “So, that’s what the rangoons thing is about, huh?”

Dib scratched the back of his head. “Yeah. I made the mistake of trying to describe crab rangoons to GIR. He’s been making them every day. They’re never the same twice. I have absolutely no idea what we’re about to walk into.”

“Eh, nothing new there,” Zim said.

“I guess you’re right. You ready, partner?”

Zim grinned. “Yeah. I’m ready.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't plan on more crying; it just happened (is what I say to myself in the mirror every day). Thank you so much for reading!


End file.
